


It's a Dying Industry

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discussions of death, F/M, Minor Character Death, Puns & Word Play, funeral homes, mortician reader, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: A little Dean x Reader mini-series. Started for the prompt "I see dead people."The Winchesters are on a case, investigating some mysterious deaths and you are able to help due to some special skills you have. And in the meantime, you and Dean get friendlyalso posted to tumblr @butiaintgonnaloveem





	1. Chapter 1

Just as you swiped your credit card at the register, a rush of movement outside the large storefront windows caught your attention. Squinting against the sunlight, you watched as two tall, suited men crossed the road hurriedly. They slowed as they reached your vehicle, making you narrow your eyes while you watched them glancing through the windows trying to get a look inside. It happened from time to time, but it was usually teenagers, not grown men who let curiosity get the better of them. One man was on the phone, watching the other while he talked, you assumed acting as the mediary for the conversation, shaking his floppy hair from side to side and waving the other man into the store.

Tyler, the clerk, noticed you staring. “Oh, those guys,” he pointed excitedly, “They’re FBI agents. Isn’t that bad ass? They were here yesterday talking to Doug about that old lady that kicked it in the dairy section.”

“Tyler,” you scolded. “That ‘old lady’ was Mrs. Harkins, and watch your language before Doug hears you.”

“Well, whatever, she was a bitch anyways.” You manage to hold off on agreeing with him and lower your head in a glare. You might not have enough years on the kid to be his, but you knew you could give a motherly frown when needed.

He mumbles an apology that you don’t pay much attention to as the shorter of the two agents strolls through the sliding doors of the supermarket. Within a few steps he’s standing next to you at the counter, flooding your senses with a mixture of Old Spice, fresh dirt and heat. You give him a quick once over while he stands in your space, assessing how he fills the fairly decent suit he’s wearing and huffing a little from his rush into the store. His sandy brown hair is too perfectly messy to be natural, and from the fluorescent lights above, his eyes look bright green. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” He nods at you with the slightest acknowledgement. The gruff sound of his voice shakes you out of your thoughts.

“No problem,” you mutter, peering around his frame to get a look outside again, noticing his partner leaning against your vehicle, his arms resting on the roof while his fingers tapped on it impatiently. The image annoying you for reasons you can’t completely place.

“Hey kid, your manager around?” His eyebrows raising expectantly at Tyler.

Your presence seems to go unnoticed for the next few moments while Tyler gawks at the agent addressing him like he’d just met a celebrity, until Doug, the store manager, pulls the agent a few feet away for a conversation. You eyes fall to read and re-read the little notice posted about ‘detecting E. Coli infections’ while you only slightly eavesdrop on the conversation, hearing snippets between the beeps and greetings of the other registers and exchanges around you.

“No other incidents we need to be aware of? And you’re sure there’s no security footage from that part of the store?” You miss Doug’s timid reply. “Just trying to make sure we’re following due diligence here. Still working to verify the cause of death which can be tricky without being able to examine the victim.” A jolt of alertness rushing through you, next you hear Doug whisper something in a shaky voice, to which the agent replies, “No, sir, I don’t think it’s related to the E.Coli breakout.”

“Y/n?” Tyler asks quietly, breaking your concentration from the conversation, “You’re all set.”

“Oh. Thanks, Ty.” You grab your bags from the register, only fumbling slightly while you try to keep from crushing the eggs and the bread. From the corner of your eye you see the agent shaking hands with Doug and you decide to grab his attention.

“Excuse me?” You give him your best doe-eyed expression, making a smirk rise on one corner of his mouth.

“Need some help there?” He gestures at the bags and you nod, handing him the heavy one loaded with cans.

“Thanks so much,” you smile. “So, Tyler mentioned that you’re FBI, is that right?” His head cocks to the side a little, a small, knowing smile on his lips, like that’s the best pickup line he didn’t even have to use himself.

“Yes ma’am, that’s right. Just looking into some interesting occurrences in the area,” he offers placatingly. You walk in slow steps together out the door, then turn back to walk along the sidewalk.

“The ‘ma’am’ isn’t really necessary, but thanks Agent -” 

“McVie.”

You give him a sideways glance, “Ok, Agent McVie. So...by interesting occurrences do you mean you’re curious about how Mrs. Harkins died?”

His response is a little slower, smile slipping a bit, and his tone slightly guarded. “It’s something we’re interested in, yes.”

You stop, now standing a few feet in front of his partner. You turn your head to look at him, then lean into the agent standing next to you conspiratorially. “I can tell you.”

You see his eyebrow raise up while he gives his partner a look signalling they are having some sort of silent conversation. The taller agent moves to stand on the other side of his partner, tucking his hair behind his ear while he tilted his head in interest. Agent McVie clues him in while quickly introducing him to you as Agent Buckingham.

“I was under the impression that there were no witnesses.”

“That’s true. Umm, could you grab this for me?” You ask while handing the Agent Buckingham the remainder of your grocery bags, not waiting for an answer. “But, can I tell you guys a secret?”

Agent McVie licks his lips before pursing them slightly, a tick of impatience making his jaw clench, “Absolutely, we love secrets.”

You glance down at your feet, inhaling deeply before looking back at them with wide eyes while you nodded. They both take half a step closer to you, anxious to hear what you’re about to say.

“Okay, well, here it goes,” you take in another deep breath. “I see dead people,” you hoarsely whisper.

One eyebrow rose up sharply, but the rest of his face remained still. His eyes flickered back and forth between yours, trying to find the lie. You stared at him straight on, noticing how different his eyes looked now that you were outside, now a much more golden, mossy green. 

His partner shifted next to him, his head had dropped when you spoke and his eyes squinted with scrutiny while he spoke, “And how long has this been happening?”

“Oh! For as long as I can remember,” you shrug. They both continue to watch you, “Wow, you FBI guys take your job pretty seriously. That’s - uh, this isn’t the response I’m used to getting when I say that.”

“Ahh, uh huh,” the taller one cracks a small smile, “Sorry, you’re right. Sometimes we get a little too wrapped up in our work. But, we are definitely interested in hearing more about this, umm, talent? Of yours. I’m Sam, this is Dean. And you are?”

“Y/n.” 

“Okay, well, Y/n we believe you and we’d love to hear more about this, and anything you might be able to tell us about the victim.”

“No problem guys, let’s just get these groceries packed up and then I’ll be happy to help. Really, all you had to do was ask,” you turn and walk toward your vehicle, leaving them standing on the sidewalk with their arms full of your shopping.

The two men give each other thoughtful frowns, while having another wordless conversation. You turn to watch them as you open your car, the sound of the door latches unlocking snapping their attention back in your direction.

“Want to stick those in the back there? Or did you need to have a look around first?” You smirk, leaning on the open rear hatch of the long, shiny black hearse. “I mean, you were trying to get a look inside, weren’t you?”

Sam and Dean both go slightly crimson above their collars. Dean is the first one to snap out of his embarrassment with a quick shake of his head to regain his senses. He stumbles forward to the hearse, tossing the grocery bag inside.

“You see dead people? Hilarious,” he deadpanned, clearly annoyed. Sam walked over and placed the other groceries inside a bit more sheepishly.

“Mortician humor.” You smiled widely.

“And is driving this thing around town like this also part of the fun you guys are known for, or what?”

“Oh yeah, my dad thinks it’s hilarious to make me drive it while I’m running errands. Which is honestly an improvement from when he thought it was a great way to chauffeur me and my dates around.” You roll your eyes with a soft chuckle.

“Dates? As in you got more than one after that happened the first time?” Dean asks, a half-smile on his face.

“Of course!” You wave him off. “I’ve been told I have a charming personality and a great sense of humor,” you wink at him playfully, “Then again, it’s not hard to be the funniest person in the room when you’re surrounded by a bunch of stiffs.”

Even Sam lets out a scoff of a laugh at that one while you slam closed the hatch.

“Alright, gentlemen, what do you need to know?” You ask while crossing your arms.

Sam opens his mouth, but is cut off by Doug shuffling his way over to the three of you.

“Pardon me Agents, Y/n,” he nods at you, “But I don’t suppose you could take this exchange elsewhere? Seeing the funeral car and the FBI outside is upsetting some of my customers and I already am having enough trouble what with the-”

“E.Coli outbreak.” Dean finishes for him while Doug shakes his head nervously. 

“Sorry, Doug. I get it, we’ll get outta here.” You turn back to Dean and Sam. “Um, I know you guys are just dying to talk to me, but I do need to get this stuff home.” You gesture with your thumb to the back of the hearse while they shake their heads at you.

Sam reaches out to shake your hand while Dean grabs a business card from inside his jacket pocket.

“Alright, well, please give us a call. We’d really like to discuss this further.” He hands it to you between two fingers. Your eyes flick over to catch Sam already wandering across the road to a much more pedestrian shiny, black car.

“Or we could skip the phone call and you can come over for dinner?” You ask, your voice rising with hopeful shyness. “I’ll be happy to help with whatever information you need, plus I’m always up for some lively conversation.”

Dean looks like he’s trying to hold in a smile by chewing on the inside of his cheek, but his chest puffs out a little proudly.

“Is this a business dinner, or is that a personal invitation?”

“Which option will get you to say yes?” You practically bounce on your toes with the nerves running through you as you ask, not wanting to assume that he had any interest beyond his questions about the recently deceased. Without breaking eye contact, he lets his tongue out to slightly wet his lips, pulling the lower one back and dragging his teeth over it. Your own lips slightly part at the sight while you inhale deeply.

“Where and what time, Sweetheart?” He asks with a bounce of his brows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story picks up just a few hours after chapter 1 as Dean arrives for dinner.  
> This chapter was helped along by another writing challenge with the prompt "The one where nana dies twice"

You’re just finishing up paperwork, sitting behind your large, polished desk when you hear a solid knock on the large glass door. You glance at the security monitor, seeing Dean standing outside. He leans back to look over your building, a slight look of confusion on his face while his eyes roam over the entrance. You tap on the com button.

“Hey, come on in, first door to the right.” Your voice floated through the speaker, followed by the soft buzz then click of the latch.

You take advantage of the few seconds before he walks in to straighten your blouse and flatten out a few stray hairs, finishing just as his body fills the doorframe to your office. His suit is gone, replaced with a plaid button-up, sleeves tucked and rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of easy, worn-in jeans that hug at his waist. The sight of him makes you suck in an extra breath, which you try to cover by clearing your throat.

You offer him a friendly smile, “Be with you in just a minute, Agent.”

He nods, making a quick scan of the office, and you return to tapping away at the keyboard. Definitely not ignoring him, but also definitely not staring at him as eagerly as you’d like.

“And...done.” You finally look up at him, finding him frowning at a brochure he’s reading through. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he answers half-heartedly, slipping the brochure back where he found it. “You know, about that. I think we might have got our wires crossed there.”

“What do you mean?” You squint as your brows knit together.

“Oh, nothing. Really. Just, you know,” he gestures at you vaguely, “With earlier. I thought this was veering more toward that personal invitation.” He finishes with his lips pursed out, eyes turned down shyly.

“Uh huh, and you were right.” His eyes land on yours, eyebrows raised with a hopeful expression. “I just had an arrangement conference run a little long, sorry about that, but I’ve really got no problem mixing a little business with pleasure.”

“I sure hope that’s not something you’re doing too often,” he bounces back with a smirk.

“Right out the gate with the necrophilia jabs, huh? Alright, I see where your head’s at, but nah. This only happens when I’ve got FBI agents visiting me at home.”

“Another thing I hope doesn’t happen too often for you,” he lifts an eyebrow at you.

“Depending on how this visit goes, it might be something I’m open to.” You cross your arms smugly. 

He nods approvingly, pursing his lips to hide an eager smile. 

After a moment of quiet, you lean forward with a sigh, leaning your arms on your desk. You scan the file sitting next to you, deciding to break the silence before it slid into uncomfortable territory.

“So-”  
“So…” 

You both grin shyly, waiting for the other to continue. Dean nods his head, letting you go first.

“So, Mrs. Harkins. Her body has already been sent away to the crematorium, but I have her personal effects here, waiting to be picked up along with her cremains when they arrive. I guess there’s a great-nephew that will be coming by when she’s ready. Given the circumstances of her death and her age, there was no request for a post-mortem, so I don’t really have a formal autopsy report I can show you.”

“Really? Have you had any other sudden deaths like this recently?” His flirty smile is gone and replaced by a look that reads all business.

You breath out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, poor Nana Cartwright.”

“Nana Cartwright? Was she your? ...nana?”

You nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “No, she was like the town grandma. No family of her own, but she made sure to treat everyone like they were hers. Like, she volunteered at the schools and library, baked and donated to the church, remembered birthdays - jeez. Just, the sweetest old lady.”

His head tilts slightly, his face tightening as he listens, “So what happened to her?”

“Seems like old age caught up to her. I swear, she’s been old forever. She, uh, collapsed yesterday outside of the pharmacy. The one across the street from the grocery store. She’s one of those I wished I would never have to see. Haven’t started working on her yet, still waiting for the paperwork regarding her wishes.” You purse your lips as you draw in a shaky breath. “But, anyway, you wanted to know about Mrs. Harkins…” You drift off, waiting for him to take the lead.

“Mmhmm, sorry for your loss,” he clears his throat before continuing with his line of questioning, “What else can you tell me? The state of the body, anything interesting about her background?”

“Uhmm, well,” you slide the file across the desk to him. “She wasn’t particularly well-liked. She knew it, too. She had arrangements set for her cremation, and absolutely no funeral or memorial services of any kind. She had a lot of the usual jewelry and whatnot on her, it’s all in the safe, but there was one thing while I was prepping her body -” 

A loud gurgle from your stomach suddenly interrupts you, making your face glow pink.

“Oh. My God. I’m sorry. I guess I’m really hungry,” you splutter out between awkward chuckles. Dean joins in, thankfully, closing the thin manila folder and placing back on your desk.

“Same here, whatt’ya say we pick this up later?”

“Sounds great.” You push up, breathing a sigh of relief. “Dinner should be done by now, come on.” 

You gesture for him to follow you, noticing his slight hesitation when you walk the opposite direction of the doors. Instead, you head down the hallway, further into the funeral home, guiding him to a stairway leading up labeled “Employees Only.” You feel his eyes on you as you ascend and try to push down the self-conscious feelings, instead fidgeting with a set of keys to unlock the door at the top of the steps. 

You push the door open, and step to the side with a waiting expression. “After you.”

His eyes trace the edges of the doorframe and his head ducks to take a quick glance inside, before he strides in. You flick on a light next to him, illuminating your apartment.

“You live above the funeral home?”

“Yup,” you pop out, rocking back and forth as you wait for any potential freak outs.

“It’s nice,” he comments, looking over your framed photos and plush furniture. “Never really off the clock, though. Aren’t you worried you’ll work yourself to death?”

“Oh, good one,” you wink. “Come on, kitchen’s this way.” You turn and walk down the hallway, quickly hiding the relief that washes over your features, grateful that he’s still feeling flirtatious.

“So, you actually live in here?” He waves his hand around at the walls. 

You nod. “Grew up in here, actually. Then I took over the whole thing after dad had to step back. He had a health scare a few years ago, so now he’s a partially retired, full-time pain in my ass, and this place is all mine.”

“You like it, though?”

With a sigh, you lift the lid off the crock-pot, stirring around the pot roast you’d set in there to cook earlier in the day, scrunching your face as you think of an answer for him.

“Shit. Sorry, not trying to be rude or anything.”

You shake your head with a soft smile. You scoop some of the food onto two plates, and settle at the tall chairs nestled side by side at your kitchen island.

“No offense taken. Just. It’s uh, it’s kind of hard to say you like your job when you deal with upset and vulnerable - sometimes angry people. Not to mention the dead ones. Bloated, smelly, sometimes disfigured corpses; dealing with entrails and body fluids…” 

He pauses with his fork mid-air.

“Oh shit. Fuck! I’m sorry! I’m so desensitized, I didn’t even realize I’m completely grossing you out.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, winking at you as he shovels the food into his mouth, making you breathe out a small sigh of relief at once again not blowing it.

“But, yeah, I do. I mean, someone’s gotta go it, and I’m good at what I do. And really, not just anyone is cut out for this kind of work. I’m sure you get that?””

“Mmmhmmm,” he moans in an answer.

“You like the food?”

He answers by scooping up another huge bite, nodding and humming around his fork once he’s got it in his mouth.

“Don’t forget to chew, Dean. I’m not too excited about the idea of tonight ending with you on my embalming table...Especially when my bed up here is sooo much more comfortable,” you add in a near-whisper.

He splutters and coughs, choking a little on the food he was swallowing. He licks at his teeth before flashing you am amused grin. “Good to know you only want me for my body.”

“Preferably alive.”

“Just preferably?”

“Hey, business is business.”

“Why don’t we just stick with the pleasure?” he asks, flicking up a pointed eyebrow.

“Oh. Smooth. You’re really on a roll,” you drag out, mirroring his smoldering look and pursing your lips at him. “But, yeah, that’s the idea.”

He doesn’t drop his eye contact for even a second. You hear his fork clank onto the plate just before you feel his hands gently cupping at the base of your skull, his lips pressing against yours, soft and smooth. You worry for a moment that your lips are greasy from the gravy, but when you slide your tongue over his bottom lip, tasting him, the worry slips your mind.

You both inhale through your noses as you tip your heads to opposite sides, allowing your mouths more access to each other. The quick kisses dissolve into something hungrier as you coax one another’s mouths open. Slowly, at first, just shy flicks of tongue capped off with smacks of lips, before dipping in to do it again.

You can’t help yourself as you shift and slide to the edge of your chair. His legs are propped on the lowest rung of the stool, letting his knees fall open creating a perfect spot for you to nestle into as one hand slides to the nape of your neck. The other drags down over your shoulder, then trickles it’s way down your back. Your breathing goes huffy as you draw in labored breaths trying to maintain some sense of self control. Your muscles twitch, anxious to arch against him and feel the press of his weight against you.

Your own hands fist at the back of his shirt. As his grip tightens in your hair, you unclench one set of fingers, letting them drift to the back of his head, scraping your fingernails through his soft, brown hair. You feel his head tilt back slightly, his neck and shoulders squirming at the touch.

You pull away to catch your breath, placing kisses across his cheek and jaw, inching yourself closer and closer to the edge of your seat, feeling him shift beneath your arms doing the same. You lift your mouth away from him, letting your eyes wander over the light layer of stubble, spotting freckles dusted over his skin, and follow the line of his jaw down the muscles of his neck, plotting your course as he nuzzles against you. Your plan of attack is quickly abandoned though, as he nudges at your jaw, making you roll back your head and expose your neck to his quickly wandering lips. They place light, tickling kisses here and there, pausing to suck a few spots when you suck in sharp breaths.

You feel like you’re ready to bounce into his lap, the excitement quickly building, making you rock your hips into the seat you’re barely perched on at this point. He moans into the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet, grazing you with his teeth and sending a tingle of pleasure down your spine. A moan of satisfaction bubbles up into your throat, ready to escape, but you let out a yelp instead as you suddenly rip yourselves apart, hearing something slam downstairs.

He twists to look down your hallway, then back at you, his face a mixture of confusion and alarm. His lips are puffy and swollen, eyes still slightly unfocused. “Is somebody else here?”

“No,” you breathe, body tense, eyes jumping between his and the doorway.

“Shit,” he mutters, “Alright, just hang back.” He pushes out his chair, reaches into the back waist of his jeans and pulls out a polished silver gun.

You follow a few feet behind him, down the hallway to the entryway. He pauses for a moment, holding his hand up as an order for you to stop. He presses his ear to the door, then the barrel of the gun, while his other hand lowers to the handle. He slowly turns it, peeking through the crack, apparently not seeing anything because he pulls it open wider, twisting his body to slip out the door and onto the staircase. You nearly step on his heels as you move to follow him, but he presses you back with a flat palm to your stomach and a nod of his head. You open your mouth to whisper a protest, but snap it shut when you hear the shatter of glass on the floor below. His head snaps to the source of the sound, his body drawn tight as he creeps along the wall.

A soft, grainy voice calls up from the darkness downstairs, “Hellooo? Can someone help me?”

You’d recognize it anywhere. The cold wash of alarm smacks you right in the face and before Dean can stop you, you rush past him, nearly tumbling down the stairs until you get to the bottom. Your eyes scan the darkness, seeing a silhouette illuminated by the dim security lights in the office.

“Nana? Ms. Cartwright?” you timidly call out. 

Dean barrelled down the stairs after you and pushes you behind him, gun drawn on the figure standing in the dark. You tiptoe around behind him, trying to see over his protective stance. He seems to know what you’re trying to do and tilts his body with your movements, keeping you behind him. You reach out to the side, finding the light switch and flick it on, making everyone flinch and blink as they adjust. You squint and try to focus on the hall, seeing a very confused, previously dead Nana Cartwright standing in the hallway.

“Y/n? Dearie? What am I doing here?” She shuffles forward a few steps. You grab onto the back of Dean’s shirt as he lines up his gun, keeping it directed at the old woman.

You start to shake your head back and forth in disbelief. “You’re dead. You were dead. You’re dead!” You voice getting higher and shakier with each statement.

“I what? Oh, that fuckwit,” she spits out, her face contorting from confusion to rage. 

You lean away with wide eyes, hands clawing at the back of Dean’s shirt again, holding him in front of you, appreciating his willingness to be a human shield.

“Alright, lady, what the hell is going on?” he barks out at her.

“Nana?” you implore.

“This is all wrong,” she growls, “That snake promised me -” Suddenly, she starts to choke and gurgle, greenish-yellow goo dripping from the corner of her mouth as she splutters for breath. As she collapses to her knees, you move to push past Dean to reach her, but he holds you back; not that you fight him all that much. You stare in horror as you watch the old lady fall with a dull thud on the carpet, hearing the last bubbles of her breath escape through her throat. Your chin quivers while your body shakes with fear.

You lean back into the wall, watching Dean take tentative steps forward. He reaches out two fingers, setting them into her neck to search for a pulse. He waits for a moment.

“Hate to break it to ya, but I think your nana’s dead...again.” 

The ringing in your ears is the last thing you notice before you collapse to the ground, the world fading into blackness around you.


End file.
